


all your life you have been cold

by CallMeBombshell



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeBombshell/pseuds/CallMeBombshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's winter in New York City, cold and wet, the sky frozen grey and dark. Steve tugs vaguely at the pocket of his jacket, shivers slightly at the bite of wind at his exposed throat, and wonders what it means that he barely feels it at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all your life you have been cold

It's winter in New York City, cold and wet, the sky frozen grey and dark. People rush by on the sidewalks, kicking through piles of slush blackened by dirt, swathed in scarves and bulky coats, hats pulled low over their ears, hand shoved deep into pockets.

Steve tugs vaguely at the pocket of his jacket, shivers slightly at the bite of wind at his exposed throat, and wonders what it means that he barely feels it at all.

(70 years ago it was winter, too, and Steve had shivered so hard he'd dropped his pencil, shaking hands clutching at the blankets piled around him, every one they had, his chair pushed close to the oven, turned on and door open, trying desperately to hold on to even the tiniest bit of heat.)

He's drawn out of his memories by a gentle shove to his side, and he looks over at Natasha beside him. She's dressed more warmly, long black coat and a white scarf pulled tight around her neck, tall black boots keeping her out of the slush and the wet on the sidewalk. She's not wearing a hat, and her long hair billows out behind her in the wind, a red banner against the winter grey.

"I don't know how you can stand this," she mutters.

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you Russian?"

Natasha arches her own eyebrows in response, staring flatly. "Not all Russians like winter," she says, dryly. _Dumbass_ , Steve hears her add silently. "Besides," she says, softer, turning away again. "I've seen a couple decades' worth of winters."

And she has, Steve knows. It eats at him, sometimes, the way he looks at her and sees someone so young, someone who's seen more than she should have in her short time. And yet he knows that she's always been so much older than she seems, that the years between them are negligible at best, that there are things which she's lived through that he could never imagine.

He wonders, sometimes, if he hadn't become Captain America, if he hadn't gone after the Red Skull on his own, if he hadn't crashed the plane, if he hadn't gone down in the ice. Would he have lived as long as she has? Would he have seen the things she's seen, lived through the wars and the migrations and the generations? Would he have seen his world change the way she had, watching as her memories slowly became the thing of history textbooks and barely-remembered legacies of the past?

"All winters look the same," Natasha says, and there's something sad in her voice, something wistful and regretful, and Steve can't quite help the way he stops suddenly and leans down.

Her lips are warm against his, slightly chapped, and her breath hitches in surprise, just the tiniest bit, against his mouth. Then she sighs, her hands coming up to grip firmly at his arms as she presses back, lips moving soft and slow against his. It's a sweet kiss, soft and simple and warm as they stand in the middle of the sidewalk, holding onto each other, anchored by their hands and the press of their mouths, the warmth of their breath mingling between them as they pull away.

Natasha blinks at him for a moment before she smiles, small and shy, but genuine, and Steve feels himself grinning in response. She ducks her head after a moment, looking away, but she's still smiling, so Steve just wraps an arm around her shoulders and they set off again down the sidewalk. Their steps are muffled by the snow, just starting to fall again.

"I could go for some hot cocoa right about now," Steve says after a moment. He waits, fingers brushing up against the edge of Natasha's scarf. AFter a moment, he feels her nod.

"Hot cocoa," she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. "Yeah. Let's do that."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Avengers Rare Pair Makeout (And More!) Fest](http://avngrsrarepair.livejournal.com/). Prompts: memories, comfort, quiet


End file.
